


Honey and Lemon

by athersgeo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 10:52:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athersgeo/pseuds/athersgeo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While out on an errand, Dot falls into an adventure of her own...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey and Lemon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winterhill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterhill/gifts).



> This fits in not long before Death on the Vine.
> 
> No beta's were harmed in the making of this story - all mistakes are my own.

Honey and Lemon

Dot wasn't entirely sure what surprised her more: the fact that even Phryne Fisher could suffer from a common cold, or the fact that, even while requiring several handkerchiefs an hour, her employer still contrived to look more glamorous and chic than Dot thought anyone should ever achieve.

It wasn't fair.

What was not surprising was the fact that Phryne was proving to be a simply dreadful patient. Most people with a streaming head-cold were perfectly content to rest in bed. Not Miss Fisher. It had taken her almost falling head-first down the stairs before Dot and Mr Butler had finally convinced her that bed was an acceptable place to stay – and even then, it was under sufferance and with a minder.

Unfortunately, if that was a problem solved, another one had just made itself apparent. Even reckoning every single last handkerchief possessed by members of the household – from Dot herself all the way down to Bert and Cec - there weren't nearly enough to deal with the current demand.

After surveying the pile waiting to be laundered for a moment, Dot came to the inescapable conclusion.

“I'm going to have to buy some more.”

“Do you need a ride?”

The question came from Bert, who was currently sitting at the kitchen table. Glancing at him, Dot could see his expression was far more hopeful at the prospect than most men might manage when faced by the prospect of a shopping expedition.

Dot mustered a smile. “Sorry, Bert, I think we need you and Cec to stay here. Just in case Miss Fisher decides to go wandering again.” Bert's face fell a mile. “Besides, it's a lovely day.”

“Will you be long, Dorothy?” Mr Butler enquired, attending to the tea kettle, which had just started its cheerful whistle.

“I shouldn't think so,” Dot answered. “Is there anything else we need?”

“You might see if you can find some lemons,” came the response, as Mr Butler started to fill the teapot. “And more honey wouldn't go amiss, either.” He set the kettle down and started to prepare a tea tray. “I'll take this up and relieve Cecil.”

Dot nodded and abstracted a suitable amount from the housekeeping funds for the necessary sundries, then followed Mr Butler out of the kitchen and along the hall. Where he turned right to go up the stairs, she turned left to collect hat, coat, gloves and basket. She was just settling the former item securely on her head when Cec appeared at the top of the stairs and came stumbling down them, a glazed, almost terrified,expression firmly etched on his face.

“Oh dear,” Dot sighed. “I wonder what Miss Fisher's been up to now.”

Then she reconsidered, as Cec blindly stumbled on in the direction of the kitchen. Perhaps she was better off not knowing.

*

As she'd said to Bert, it was a lovely morning. The sun was shining brightly and the sky was as blue as on a mid-summer's day, although Dot was glad of her coat for there was a definite hint of autumn in the air. The trees, too, showed the first signs of the season's turn as the odd leaf here and there were just starting to turn golden. All in all, had she not been busy with her errands, Dot might have been tempted to take her time and simply enjoy the day.

As it was, she moved briskly about her business. A short visit to the drapers' shop had furnished her with a sizeable package of brand new handkerchiefs, and had allowed her to place an order for more, to be collected later in the week. She was now on her way to the grocers for the honey and from there, on to the fruit market to see if she could acquire some lemons.

As she walked, she became aware of a clamour up ahead, but it took several moments before she recognised it as cries for help.

Dot paused for a moment to size up what was going on. The cries were coming from a young girl, no older than Jane, dressed in the uniform of one of the local schools. Just what she was doing here, at this time of day, was something Dot couldn't judge, but what was clear was that she needed help and it seemed as if there was no-one else prepared to step in.

Squaring her shoulders, just a touch, Dot strode forwards and reached the girl, just as she launched into another round of wails.

“Whatever is the matter?” Dot asked. Then had to repeat herself when it was clear that the girl hadn't entirely heard her.

“Me mum,” sniffed the girl. “There's something wrong with me mum.”

All manner of causes for this flashed through Dot's mind – many of them involving foul play – but before she could press for details, the girl had ploughed on.

“I'd forgot me homework, y'see, so I snuck back home to get it only she's there and she's screaming and there's blood--”

“Take me to her,” Dot interrupted, having distilled the important points from the girl's words. “We'll see if we can help her.”

Nothing loathe, the girl turned tail and disappeared into a nearby house. Dot followed, hard-pushed to keep up. The house, it turned out, was a boarding house of sorts, with each floor rented to a different family. The girl and her mother had one of the attics and the girl fairly sprinted up the stairs.

As they neared the top floor, Dot began to hear sounds that relieved her initial concerns. It seemed that whatever had happened, the mother was still alive – if in considerable pain.

The girl bursts through the attic door and Dot followed moments later.

There, lying on the floor, was a young woman, heavily pregnant and clearly, to judge by the moans, in labour. This had definitely not been what Dot was expecting.

With a silent prayer for the whole proceeding, Dot knelt by the woman's head. “Don't worry; we'll see this right.”

The woman opened her eyes. “It's too soon.”

“I think the little one has other ideas,” Dot answered. To the girl, who was looking on anxiously, she said, “Do you have a telephone here?” The girl shook her head. “All right; can you--”

“Oh my-- Dottie?”

The interruption came from the direction of the still open door. Dot glanced over in time to see Hugh step through. “Oh, Hugh – thank goodness! We need a doctor here, right away.”

“Dottie?” Hugh repeated, looking confused. “What are you doing here?”

“Never mind that,” said Dot, with some exasperation. “We need a doctor. Dr MacMillan, would be best.”

The woman chose that moment to utter a scream as yet another contraction hit. 

“Dottie, I don't think there's time.”

“What's wrong with mum?” the girl asked, her face a mask of terror.

“Nothing,” said Dot. “She's just--”

“Just going to give you a brother or a sister,” Hugh cut in. He was still obviously confused by Dot's presence, but what was equally obvious was this was not the first time he'd been in this situation.

Dot made an absent mental note to enquire about that later.

While Hugh dealt with the girl, who was now asking rapid-fire questions that were rapidly turning Hugh's face pink with embarrassment, Dot turned her attention to the woman, who was now gasping with pain and tears.

“What's your name?” Dot asked.

“Bea,” came the answer. “Short for—for Beatrice.”

Dot smiled. “I'm Dot, and the policeman there is Constable Collins. We'll help you. It will be all right.”

Bea mustered up the faintest of smiles. “I hope you're right.”

*

Later, all Dot would recall about the morning was that it had been long and filled with far too much screaming and pain. Hugh, as she'd guessed, proved surprisingly knowledgeable about the whole process and had been able to coax Bea through the birth, but it had largely been a blur to Dot, kept busy by demands for towels and hot water.

The girl – Cassandra, her name had turned out to be – had likewise been kept busy, giving her no time to dwell on what was going on. To judge by the steady stream of questions that had also peppered the morning, Miss Cassandra was quite possibly going to follow in Dr MacMillan's footsteps when she was older.

As the child, a healthy – if screaming – baby boy, was laid in his mother's arms, Dot finally allowed herself to consider what she'd done. She had helped to bring a new life safely into the world. It made her feel quite a swell of pride.

“Now what?” she asked, as Hugh finished drying his hands on the one remaining clean towel. With his uniform jacket removed and his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, Dot didn't think she'd ever seen him look quite so dishevelled.

“Now we get Bea and the baby to the hospital,” Hugh answered, “so that Dr MacMillan can make sure everyone's healthy. And you can tell me what you're doing here.” He paused. “If it had been Miss Fisher, I wouldn't have been surprised.”

Dot gave a tired grin at that. “I ran into Cassandra and she needed help.”

Hugh considered that for a moment, then sighed. “Just like Miss Fisher.”

“You say that as if it's a bad thing.”

Wisely, Hugh had no answer to that and, instead,busied himself in seeking access to a phone. While he was gone, Dot helped Bea into a change of frock and then helped to carefully bundle the new arrival up in a clean blanket.

“What will you call him?” Dot asked.

“Edward, for his father,” Bea replied.

“Edward.” Dot studied the now sleeping child in her arms. “Hello, Edward.”

Hugh returned, in the company of two ambulance men, who whisked Bea, Cassandra and Edward away with a competent rapidity, leaving Hugh and Dot to finish tidying up and then lock up.

“Come on,” said Hugh as they descended the lengthy flight of stairs. “I've got the car outside – let me take you home.”

“That would be--” Dot stopped suddenly. “Lemons!”

Hugh regarded her for a moment. “Lemons?”

“I need to buy lemons!” And for the first time since meeting Cassandra, the real reason for her being out and about recalled itself. Frantically, Dot looked at her watch, only to realise that the fruit market would be just about closed by now. “Oh no!”

“Lemons?” Hugh repeated, looking bemused again. “Why lemons?”

“For Miss Fisher,” Dot answered. “What am I going to do?”

“Dottie, we've just helped someone give birth,” said Hugh reasonably. “We can work out how to buy some lemons.” He ushered her down the stairs. “Come on. Poppy at the fruit market owes me a favour.”

*

Nearly an hour later and Dot found herself back at Miss Fisher's house, handkerchiefs, honey and lemons all safely stowed in her basket – the latter supplied by a willing Poppy in exchange for Hugh's continued silence on some matter that Dot was definitely going to investigate further, when time allowed.

She was greeted at the door by an unusually harassed looking Mr Butler.

“Dorothy, where have you been?” he demanded, even as Dot turned to wave Hugh off. “And was that young constable Collins?”

“It was,” Dot agreed, entering the house. “Oh – not like that. We, uh, bumped into each other. He helped me get the lemons,” she added vaguely, aware that Mr Butler was now staring at her.

“I suppose,” said Mr Butler resignedly, “I should have expected you to find some trouble while you were out. Should I assume that Melbourne has one fewer resident?”

“One more, actually,” said Dot,with a smile. “I'm not Miss Fisher, after all!”


End file.
